Aaron’s Pokemon
- Artoria (Kirlia)- Jeanne (Flaaffy)- Durvasa (Primeape)- Magellan (Chikorita)- Baby Mothra (Larvesta)
Entree 5.17
Aaron FulanLavaridge Town
The koffing launched launched a ball of sludge at Jeanne. Jeanne made to dodge, charging up a spinning Electro Ball on her tail. But just before it made contact with the ground, ready to spin her away from the line of attack, she paused.
Instead, she sidestepped the Sludge. Her fist sparked with electricity, punching the attack away as it flew by. She was hurt, if only barely.
“Magellan, Stim Shot,” I shouted.
“Chiko!” my plus-sized baby dinosaur replied.
He took a deep breath. The leaf on his head glowed with a verdant light as Synthesis took hold. Then, it rapidly lost its luster as the power coalesced into his open mouth.
A seed, glowing with the radiance of the sun, shot out. But rather than aim for the koffing or the seviper we were battling, it struck Jeanne in the back.
“Flaaf!” she cried out, more a gasp of surprise than pain. That gasp turned into sheer delight, the kind reserved for rollercoasters and sugar highs. “Flaaffy! Flaaffy-flaaf!”
The seed unraveled. Its tendrils, proto-roots that would normally drain a target dry, did the exact opposite. They wrapped around her torso, shimmering tendrils dug into thick wool until they found skin. The light began to fade as that solar energy was deposited directly into her body.
The injury over her paw healed as we watched. So did all the other minor scuffs and scrapes she’d sustained throughout the battle. She bleated out in triumph as lightning and flame coated either paw.
The koffing stood no chance. It let out a groan of pain as Jeanne’s fist met its face-body. The seviper tried to intercede, but could find no ground against my weirdly aggressive lamb.
Magellan barreled into the koffing as Jeanne pivoted to deal with the seviper. He headbutted the beach ball-sized pokemon into the air before grabbing it in his vines. Then, turning it so its mouth faced away from him, he began slamming the poor thing into the ground repeatedly.
I watched them beat their opponents unconscious. Our opponent, one of the local trainers, looked on in dismay. He said his poison types could give him the edge against Magellan, even in a doubles match.
Jeanne’s close combat abilities were improving. At this rate, I expected to teach her Iron Tail soon. She was already comfortable using it, both as a balancing aid and an additional point from which to project an Electro Ball.
Whereas Jeanne fought with hard-earned skill and experience, Magellan’s fighting style was of brute dominance. He used his bulk to out-muscle his opponent while using Vine Whip to distance himself from the poisonous fumes. That weight training I made him do, lifting and holding heavy things far from his body, was paying off.
“This is not happening,” our opponent groaned. “Damn it, fine! Koffing, Self-Destruct!”
“Magellan, chuck it at the seviper,” I called. “Jeanne, Protect.”
Magellan roared out a manic laugh that didn’t belong on such a cute dinosaur. Then again, in my past life, the most dangerous, paranoid, and aggressive animals in Africa were also herbivores. He chucked the now glowing koffing with zero hesitation.
There was an explosion. And when the smoke cleared, there was an unconscious knife-snake and a rather disgruntled lamb. That was my lunch money secured. Unnecessary maybe, but pocket change was always nice.
“Flaaffy-flaaf,” she complained as she stomped over.
“Chikorita? Chiko chiko-chikorita,” Magellan replied. He lifted his sister onto his back with his vines.
Jeanne gave a token struggle before allowing herself to be carried. Really, she wasn’t mad that I let him nuke her. She was more upset about the smog residue that sank into her wool. Apparently, koffing smelled even worse to a pokemon’s sensitive nose.
With that, I considered our first field test of Stim Shot to be a success. There was more to improve upon. The glowing meant there was energy radiation, meaning a loss of efficiency. We also weren’t sure how effective it was for treating serious injuries.
That was something to work on, hopefully at the Lavaridge pokemon center. Magellan could help treat patients and wild pokemon in an environment where he had professional medical oversight. Artoria could also take the chance to refine Life Dew, something we picked up from Ranger Wheldon during the ursaring incident. It had admittedly fallen by the wayside in terms of priority.
Alas, that would have to wait. The nurse I spoke with wasn’t against the idea, but he told me that there were several forms I needed to sign and procedures to go through. Hell, there was a first aid workshop that we were required to attend if we wanted to treat other pokemon. Lavaridge, despite being such a small town, was turning out to be a longer stop than I’d expected.
Well, that was fine. I was in no rush. There was the trip up Mount Chimney coming up, but after…
The Ever Grande Conference was never my goal and being a “supernova rookie” sounded like way more attention than I wanted. Taking my time, learning the right skills, setting the right foundations, and giving my newborn larvesta the stability and instruction she needed was far more important.
“Come on, don’t sulk, Jeanne,” I cooed as we walked off.
“Flaafy,” she said flatly, holding out her paw insistently. I handed her her comb and she began brushing out her wool.
“Okay, fine, we promise not to throw koffing at you in the future.”
“Flaaf. Flaaffy?”
“Or any other smelly creature that explodes.”
“Flaffy,” she bleated, pointing out an expensive poffin store.
“Don’t push it. You got a celebratory dinner for your third contest ribbon,” I chided.
The Lavaridge contest had been a bit too easy. Our competition was two wandering trainers of middling skill and a scant handful of locals who were mostly in it to enrich their pokemon. Maybe it was because of the generally tradition-minded populace, but the town just didn’t care as much about all that newfangled pop ‘n’ pizazz.
Nonetheless, what mattered was that we had three normal-rank ribbons. From this point forth, we were no longer considered amateurs. To be eligible to compete at the Grand Festival, coordinators needed a single ribbon from super, hyper, and master-rank contests, but these three ribbons were exponentially more difficult to acquire than the three I had currently.
They were also scheduled much less frequently than the monthly norma-rank contests. This forced qualified coordinators to actually travel to and from various cities to attend them.
It was perhaps the biggest reason trainers didn’t shoot for both badges and ribbons simultaneously. No one wanted to put their journey on a timer like that. Well, that was fine for someone like me, who didn’t mind taking his time.
We grabbed lunch, actual lunch, not the sweets and snacks Jeanne wanted, and headed back towards the section of town dedicated to traditional crafts. It’d been over a week since our arrival and Mr. Machisuke finally reached out. Arotria’s sword was ready.
My kirlia was an adorable paradox of finely honed discipline and anticipation. Outwardly, her face was placid, a beautiful mask of porcelain poise framed by jade-green bangs. Inwardly, her aura was one of eagerness; I’d literally not seen her this excited on her own birthday.
Most noticeably, she was skipping.
And, as soon as I thought that, she stopped. She whirled, shooting me a look of betrayal.
‘I was not skipping,’ she huffed, face burning.
‘What do you call that then?’ I asked with a shit-eating grin.
‘I was… practicing my footwork. It is training. Martial arts training.’
‘Is it, now?’
‘It is!’
‘First I’ve heard of it.’
‘I am creating new training exercises. You should praise my dedication, my lord,’ she said insistently.
‘Of course, how could I have been so blind,’ I said indulgently. Then, as she began to relax, I added, ‘Can you show me more? I would be delighted to see your progress.’
‘It is a secret technique–’
‘Called skipping.’
‘Called ski–No! I was not skipping!’
‘You know, you’re allowed to be silly sometimes.’
‘I am aware. But I was not skipping.’
‘Of course.’
I allowed the topic to die, not that I was fooling my beloved partner. She could feel, taste, the delight I was exuding. She stalked on ahead, head high in a huffy pout even as she drank of my good humor.
We reached Kenji Machisuke’s shop in short order. He looked as scruffy as ever, though that only added to the old-timey, rugged aesthetic of his smithy. His machoke was holding a set of prongs in its superpowered hands, keeping a hunk of metal stable as the old smith went at it.
Machisuke’s swings were downright gentle compared to the strength the machoke could no doubt bring to bear. His back was stooped and he did not put his weight into each strike. That was the point. He handled delicate, detailed work while his machoke took over to crash down like a drop hammer where force was necessary. In his age, he’d found his own balance.
His skarmory, patiently roosting in the rafters, offered us a single nod in greeting. We waited patiently for the man to finish. It was always a privilege to watch an expert at work.
Ten minutes later, he reached a stopping point he was satisfied with and set the piece aside. It was an intricate wreath of wrought iron, maybe something that would decorate a fence or gate. It still needed to be polished and buffed, but I could see the vision.
“Hello, Mr. Machisuke. You said you finished the spoon?” I greeted.
“I said I had a prototype, kid,” he said. He made his way over to his shelf and withdrew a basket full of spoons. Each handle had a bit of masking tape, upon which was a ratio hastily scribbled in pencil.
This wasn’t the first time we’d dropped by. A spoon was a sword, but only if your name was Artoria. To everyone else, a spoon was just a spoon. It didn’t take that long for a skilled smith to make one.
Mr. Machisuke could hammer out the general shape of a spoon in fifteen to thirty minutes. No, the thing that really ate up time was adjusting the percentage of moon stone powder inside the silver. From the moment I delivered the materials, he’d called us back once every few days so Artoria could try out different configurations.
“I’m feeling good about this one, Mr. Machisuke,” I said. “Artoria was pretty happy with the last one you showed us.”
“Maybe. If she likes it, I’ll finish polishing it for her. Gotta say, this is the weirdest commission I’ve taken on in a long while,” he grunted.
“What’s the ratio this time?”
“Two point seven one eight percent moonstone powder by weight of the metal. The metal is a silver-titanium alloy, so I had to ask a friend who works with jewelry about it.”
Artoria took it in hand with a reverent gentleness. I knew then that we’d hit the mark. I didn’t know why two percent was better than the five percent we had before. All I knew was that when she channeled her fae aura into it, the spoon practically sang with power.
She took her new sword in hand and began to run through some basic kendo kata. Silvery light trailed along each stroke, as if the old smith had captured the very moonlight into this spoon.
“Well, I’ll be, lass. You like it?” he asked, chuckling.
“Kir,” she said, nodding eagerly. She tucked her new sword in the crook of her elbow, clasped one fist over the other, and bowed. “Kirlia. Kirlia-kirlia.”
“I still have to polish it, you know.”
I happily paid for the spoon. He asked us to come by again after dinner and promised to keep the exact alloy composition in a folder somewhere, in case we needed to commission another sword.
I was admittedly a little jealous. I too wanted a new sword, preferably one made of aura-infused steel and sharpened to a keen edge. Unfortunately, mom said it was a "frivolous purchase” and refused to buy me one. Such was the life of a trainer; my wants were second to my pokemon’s.
‘You are being dramatic, my lord,’ Artoria said, not a little smugly.
‘Ah, but how am I to defend myself?’ I lamented, even as I began earmarking funds to buy myself a sword. It’d take a bit longer, but I could do it if we took on more jobs.
‘By standing behind your pokemon, like normal trainers do.’
‘That’s no fun. Stabbing people is a universally enjoyable pastime, you know.’
X
Flannery Moore
Life as a gym leader’s granddaughter was pretty sweet. I complained, but that was just my Arceus-given right as a teenage girl.
The chores were actually pretty enjoyable. They let me spend time with the gym pokemon, especially the baby numel. Goofing off with them while I raked the artificial dunes of large gravel was tons of fun, even if it made my hair all dusty.
It was even better when I had something to look forward to, like Aaron’s larvesta. He’d been dropping by every day to grill gramps about this or that training method. The guy was insatiable. At this point, he probably knew more about fire type aura and learning different moves than some of our permanent gym trainers.
Which was good. He should be curious, especially since he was taking care of such a rare fire type like Larvesta. Their conversations just meant someone had to watch the sweetie-pie, and who better than me?
It also helped that we had a lot of room to train in. Apparently, he fought some of the local kids at the pokemon center, only to be quickly disappointed. I couldn’t blame him; Lavaridge as a town just didn’t have our competitive spirit.
I sat at the wooden walkway that surrounded our inner courtyard. In my hand was a big cat toy reminiscent of a fishing rod. A piece of pecha berry leather dangled from the end of the string, giving Larvesta something to chase. She was so cute; I’d bought this from the toy store just so I could play with her.
Off a-ways, the rest of Aaron’s team trained alongside mine. It wasn’t like they were developing new moves. They mostly just sparred non-stop in a round robin style until they all collapsed. Crude maybe, but it was a good way to bleed energy while refining what they already knew.
“Lar-larvesta-lar,” the little one said. It was something between a croak and a chirp that was way more expressive than it had any right to be.
“Hmm? Has Aaron been teaching you anything?” I asked as I wiggled the rod temptingly.
“Vesta? Lar!” She lunged, launching herself two feet off the ground.
Laughing, I jerked the rod up, causing the fruit leather to leap out of her reach. “Sorry, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Lar…”
“Come on, you can reach. You were close last time.”
“Larvesta? Ves?”
“You can do it,” I cooed.
Then, just when I thought she’d given up, she spat out a glob of silk that struck the rod. With a triumphant chirp, she yanked it from my hand. The treat was in her mouth before the rod even hit the ground.
I stared at my empty hand in surprise. “Huh, that’s new.”
“She’s very dextrous with String Shot,” Aaron said as he left grandpa’s office. “Apparently, larvesta have better control over their silk than their fire when they’re young.”
“Really? Where’d you read that?”
“Champion Alder’s writings. They’re pretty anecdotal, seeing how he only ever raised one volcarona himself, but they’re as accurate as I’m likely to find about the species.”
“Fair enough. Has she used fire at all?”
“A little. She likes to heat up her bed by igniting her horns. I think she’s subconsciously using them to regulate her own temperature while she sleeps.”
“That’s pretty interesting. Shelly does that, too. A torkoal’s lungs are a bit like a blacksmith’s bellows. She can use her breath to keep her inner fire stable while emitting excess heat through the vents in her shell.”
“Huh, that does sound similar.”
“Want me to send you some papers on it?”
“Please,” he said as he took a seat next to me. Larvesta clamored onto his lap, nudging her head into his hand for scritches.
“You’re gonna move on soon, right? When’s your last day here?”
“I am, why? Gonna miss me?”
“As if,” I scoffed. “I’ll miss this cutie. You better send pictures.”
“You’re in the group chat. You can bug me if I forget.”
“Thanks. Where are you going next?”
He held up a hand, pointing towards the peak of Mount Chimney. “There. There’s a geological survey going on. I actually wanted to work there for a bit before coming down to battle your grandfather, but the recruiter told me that I needed my fourth badge before they’d consider me.”
“That was a week ago, though,” I pointed out. “Not saying you’re not qualified, but are they even recruiting anymore? They should already be doing whatever they’re supposed to be doing, right?”
“Right. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get up there and I finally found one. I’ll be helping to deliver food and supplies. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Huh. Why do you care? I mean, you’re not a rock or ground type trainer. Or much of a geology person. Or a science person.”
“Are you saying I look dumb?” he asked, jabbing me in the ribs.
“Oi! I mean… I’m not not saying that,” I shot back, sticking out my tongue. “You could use a haircut. I can’t believe you’ve been here a week and you haven’t even thought about it.”
“I did. I just had bigger concerns.”
“Right… Anyway, the survey?”
“Yeah. I’m curious, you know? It’s the biggest thing happening around here so I figured I should take a look around.”
“Must be nice, going wherever you want.”
“Oh? You want to be a traveling trainer?”
“A little? But also, not really. I waffle back and forth. Being a gym trainer is great, but it does feel like I’m missing out on some experiences sometimes, you know?”
“I get it. I’ll bring you back a rock or something.”
“Gee, thanks, Aaron.”
“Always a pleasure, Flannery.”
X
Aaron Fulan
The next morning, my team and I reported to a warehouse on the northeast end of town. Here, I checked in with the foreman and three other trainers.
Our task was simple enough. We just had to escort a small caravan of trucks to the survey site. The cargo was food, medical supplies, miscellaneous lab supplies the research team was running low on, and some repels for self-defense.
The warehouse foreman said this was a bit of a milk run. The peak of Mount Chimney wasn’t well-traveled, but four trucks weren’t likely to attract too many wild pokemon. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d jinxed us.
No matter. My task was clear: Even if I failed this commission, I had to meet with Dr. Courtney Kagari, the brilliant prodigy heading this expedition. I prayed I was wrong, but if she was as insane as in canon, I needed to know.
Thus, we began our trek up the mountain.
Author’s Note
A bit of a time skip, just a week or so. Magellan is scary. Also, I’m skipping the Lavaridge contest. Aaron now qualifies for the super-rank contests.
Animal Fact: What does a moth sound like? Well, if you’re looking at one of three death’s-head hawkmoth species, it chirps.
It does this by contracting and expanding its epipharynx like an accordion. Its epipharynx first evolved to slurp up honey but later evolved to produce short bursts of sound when irritated.
And yes, honey. While the death’s-head hawkmoth can drink nectar, they are best known for raiding beehives. That way, they can slurp up both honey and nectar. They do this by emitting the same chemical scents as the bees, thereby not being recognized as intruders.
Mostly. Sometimes, they are recognized anyway, or maybe identified as being fatasses. When this happens, they have thick, waxy cuticles that help protect them against stings long enough to escape.